MailOrder Roommates
by The-Charcoal-Alchemist
Summary: Yes, another 'Hetalia manual' fanfic. I have jumped on the bandwagon. How is one college student going to handle the chaos one little pop-up offer can bring?
1. Chapter 1

And yet again, I jump upon the Bandwagon. The Hetalia Manual Bandwagon, that is. Based of of LoliDictator's Hetalia Unit Manuals, of course.

* * *

Time.

Sometimes, it felt like I had too much of it.

Which really shouldn't be the case, considering that I'm a student at a 24/7 college. I take two courses per month, six days a week, and each class has 4 hour lectures, and 4 hour labs. I spend a grand total of 48 hours in class, and that doesn't even count the hours I spend working on projects and studying at home, or the open labs I go to on my off days to get ahead.

This month, I had matching schedules for both classes, so I was leaving my small, two bedroom apartment (that only really hosted one person and all her junk) at four in the morning, to be on time for my 5am class, and staying on campus until 5pm (with a four hour break between 9am and 1pm) for 6 days a week. Tiring? Yes. But when the college runs 24/7, you take what you're given.

Winter break was coming up fast, and that would give me three and a half weeks of freedom. Sweet, pressure-free freedom! I was trying to get all my projects done ahead of time, so I could cruise through the final days and slide right into break.

Unfortunately, this meant forgoing much of my spare time.

Especially my sleep-time.

Heh. Who needs sleep, anyway?

One side effect of less sleep, though, meant less rational thinking. Not that I thought all that rationally to begin with, but you get the point. It was 1 am, and I was much too awake for the hour. I had my laptop open on my bed, and "Ni-Hao, Kai-Lan" playing on my small TV (carted all the way to Florida from Pennsylvania).

I wasn't really paying attention to the show, instead I was surveying the newly submitted Hetalia fanfiction. Nothing really caught my eye - either it was written in another language, or was of a depressing genre that my too-awake mind wasn't interested in dealing with. I was just about to leave the site and spam Deviantart when a pop up ad caught my eye.

Usually, I don't get pop ups. My firewall keeps them out, since I can't afford another $2000 to replace my laptop if it dies. But if my firewall hadn't caught this one, then it couldn't be all that dangerous, right? It was brightly colored and simple - not flashy, just eye catching. There was a familiar logo waterlogged onto the background, and in bold black letters it read

"**Free Hetalia Units - Click here to Beta Test****!**"

"Free Hetalia Units….." I read aloud. "Hmm…only if I can haz Canada." Ah, my inner LOLcat. Then I noticed some finer print beneath the bold letters. I narrowed my eyes and pushed my glasses up my nose to better read.

"**Includes: France, England, America, Russia, Canada, Sweden…**" I stopped reading at 'Canada'.

"Okay. I'll fall for that." I clicked the link. The pop up disappeared, and was suddenly replaced by a smaller box.

"_Thank you for volunteering to Beta Test our Hetalia Units! Your first Unit will arrive in 1-3 business days, and you will receive a new Unit every two days. Thank you for your business!_" Almost as soon as I had finished reading, the pop up disappeared.

I waited, but my laptop didn't explode. No S.W.A.T. team burst through my windows. Nothing spontaneously combusted. Absolutely nothing happened.

I felt slightly disappointed.

"Alright….that was weird…" I muttered. I glanced at my digital clock and sighed. 2am. I could either try to sleep for two hours, or just stay up until I had to leave for class and try to sleep on my 9am-1pm break. Sleeping on campus didn't usually turn out well. But, tonight was Friday, and tomorrow Saturday….I had Sunday off, so I could always sleep then….

…yeah, I'd just sleep Sunday.

I picked up the remote and turned up my TV, returning to the elementary-level learning of Chinese words and quickly forgetting about the Units that would supposedly arrive by Tuesday. Nunavut, my 5 month old Newfounland, whined and rolled over on my bed, pointedly rolling over the remote. I made a face and scratched his fluffy gray ears.

"Okay, okay, transmission received - no more volume touchie." Nunavut sneezed. "Ew. Rude..."

By Saturday night, I would be wishing I hadn't forgotten so easily.

* * *

Short, I know, but it's a start, nonetheless. What do you think of my writing style? Did I make some mistake that readers can see and I can't? Let me know, people!


	2. Chapter 2

Little longer, but not by much. XD

* * *

By 4am, I was all set to leave. My backpack was stuffed full of all my assorted textbooks, notebooks, sketchbooks (because I draw compulsively), pencils, pens and erasers that I needed. I swear, that bag weight 40lbs or something…or that could just be the towel I'd stuffed in to act as padding for my laptop.

I'd never actually gotten around to buying a padded bag specifically for laptop transportation. Procrastinated too long, then realized I was too lazy.

One less thing to carry, anyway.

"Keys…check. Sunglasses…check. Wallet…check." I ran through my pre-class checklist aloud to be sure I wouldn't forget anything. Nothing like driven 25 minutes and arriving 15 before class to realize you'd forgotten something important. Like your portfolio containing all your project supplies. Speaking of which…

"Portfolio…" I swung the flat black fabric folder over my shoulder. "Check." I pushed my full-coverage sunglasses up onto my head. I'm blind without my glasses, and I hate touching my eyes - with. A. Passion. - so the glasses never come off.

Perscription sunglasses were too expensive for my college budget, so I used the cheap, dollar store pair that fit over glasses. For only spending four bucks, I was getting a lot of milage out of them.

"Nunavut, your water bowl is full, and I've already fed you for the morning, since, technically, it is." No. Talking to your dog is not weird. "Tommy will be in to feed you around noon, and I'll be back at five." It paid off to know your super, didn't it?

"I'm a good four days ahead of schedule, so we can go to that park we found and play for a few hours." Nunavut barked and wagged his tail. The park was relatively small, but it was dog-friendly, and had a manmade pond in the middle. I'd just need to remember to bring a towel, else my car forever smell of 'wet Newfoundland'.

"But you have to be good." I added, waggling one finger. "Remember, we have neighbors below us, so try not to bark at the squirrels across the hall. They're being evicted by pest control this week, anyway, so the least you can do is be nice." Nunavut whined. "…okay fine. You can bark a little."

I straightened up and scratched my puppy's ears, unable to resist a quick eskimo kiss before running for the door. The last thing I grabbed was my photo ID - required to enter, exit, and generally travel anywhere in or on school grounds - from the doorknob. Without it, I could neither get into class nor print in the library. It was my key to life. It was my key to success. It was my key to not failing and retaking my class.

Even if that photo of me was worse than my freshman yearbook photo.

I unlocked the front door after my obligatory/paranoid check through the peephole (which short little me had to stand tippy toe to see through), and pulled it open, calling one last 'bye bye!' to Nunavut before closing the door behind me. I quickly sorted out my apartment key and relocked the door before turning and hustling down the concrete-and-steel steps to the ground floor.

Since it was, technically, four in the morning, the streetlights were still on. The sun wasn't due to rise for another two hours, and the only organisms up so early (aside from me, of course) were the possums and outdoor cats that wandered from parked car to parked car in their hunt for lizards and mice (mostly lizards). It was eerily quiet….but it made me feel like a ninja, dashing from shadow to shadow without being seen.

I usually got home after the general work rush, so I'd parked at least twenty spaces down from my apartment. Not very far in the daytime, but at night, it became an annoyingly far distance - especially for someone as paranoid as me. Students at my college were known as targets for theft, since we worked with and usually carried around a lot of expensive equipment. We weren't allowed to bring weapons onto campus (damn…) so there were times when we felt a little vulnerable.

Having freaked myself out with these thoughts, I dug my compass out of my portfolio (the art tool, not the navigation tool) and held it like a dagger. I continued my ninja-dodge technique down to my car - a little Honda, with five seats and four seat belts - and tossed my portfolio and backpack on the backseat. I jumped into the drivers seat, slammed the door, and immediately locked it.

I didn't relax until the key was in the ignition and NOTA was blaring from the stereo right where I'd left them.

Ahh….Puerto Rican a capella….

Moment of panic completed, I buckled up and headed off to school. Eight hours of drawing, erasing, painting, matte board-cutting, inside-joking and nerve-wracking project reviews later, I finally pulled back into my spot. I'd gotten lucky today - the prime parking spot right in front of the stairs, beneath the oak tree was mine! Feeling good and all self-confident, I hopped out of the car and grabbed my bags.

I was halfway up the stairs before I realized there was someone (and something) in front of my door. Someone in a UPS-esque uniform, and a little metal shield that read "F.M.B.E.". The man looked at me - ooh, cutie - and looked down at his clipboard.

"Delivery for….Miss Rhoads?"

* * *

Chapter two! What do you think?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three! Thank you to everyone who reviewed! ^_^

* * *

"…that would be me." I showed the man my ID, which was still hanging from the lanyard around my neck. The man - Dan, his nametag red Dan - smiled.

"Glad I caught you! I hear you run an odd schedule."

"Yeah….Full Sail student." I blinked as Dan presented his clipboard to me. Now I could see the logo at the top of the paper. "F.M.B.E." stood for "Flying Mint Bunny Express". Wait….

"Sign here, please." A pen suddenly appeared on the clipboard. Blinking, I took the pen and signed my name in the appropriate place. In print, not cursive. I don't use cursive. It made my 4th grade year a hell, so I'm boycotting it for the rest of my life.

So far, so good.

"Thank you." Dan took the pen and clipboard back, grinning. "Your next Unit will be delivered in two days. I live down the street, so it'll be delivered as soon as it arrives." He smiled and tipped his hat at me. "Have a nice day!" I watched Dan walk down the stairs and across the street, until he disappeared around the corner.

So cute…wait.

I turned to look at the box on my doorstep. It towered (relatively speaking) over my diminutive 5'1" figure. There was barely enough room between the box and my front door for me to reach in and unlock it. Certainly not enough space for me and my backpack.

This…..was not going to be fun.

It took me an hour, from getting my front door unlocked to squeezing my backpack inside to dragging the box inch by hard-fought-for inch, to get the damn thing into my apartment. I managed to get it laid out lengthwise on my carpet (it really wasn't as heavy as I expected) in my living room, which needed something to fill the empty space, anyway.

Maybe I could use the box as a coffee table?

But first I had to open it. There was a smaller (okay, not smaller, thinner) box taped to the side of the larger one, so I raided my closet (of art supplies and spare jackets) for one of those 98 cent throwaway knives I'd gotten from Home Deop for my three-plane depth project, and cut through the tape.

Inside the box was a paperback manual, which I pulled out first, several various articles of folded clothing, a hockey stick, and…..oh my god, was that a polar bear? It wasn't just a plush toy…..I could see it breathing…Nunavut pushed through my legs and stuck his head into the smaller box, sniffing at the polar bear. It growled. Nunavut yelped and jumped back, nearly knocking me over.

"Nunavut!" My puppy whined and crawled beneath the couch. I sighed and picked up the manual, eyeing the polar bear - Kumajirou, right? It didn't move again, so I started flipping through the manual. "Congratulations…you have just received your very own MATTHEW WILLIAMS Unit, a.k.a.: CANADA…ohmigod, Nunavut, I WASN'T dreaming!" The gray Newfie whined.

"To activate your CANADA Unit…." I started skimming through the directions, excited now. "Hmm….well, I can't cook….I can't speak French, unless cursing counts….I don't know anything past 'Oh Canada'….I HATE Cyrus AND Bieber, and Gaga is a NO." I sighed. "Crap, that's three out of four options gone." I snapped the manual closed.

"….Nunavut, fetch the remote." My dog crawled out from under the couch and turned into my bedroom. He returned with my TV remote in his mouth. "Good boy." I took it from him. "Nunavut, it may add another $15 to our cable bill this month, but I'm going to buy the NHL channel." Nunavut whined. "It's the only option we can do!" I argued.

Thirty minutes later, I had the screen all set up on my TV. I put Nunavut in the corner of the room between the TV and my bed, so he was out of the way of any flying box parts, and selected 'BUY'. Once the transaction was complete, I flipped up and up and up through the channels until I found the right one. There was a game already in progress. The Philadelphia Flyers verses the Vancouver Canucks.

For one panicked moment, I hit mute. Nunavut looked at me and whined. I hesitated, leaning around the doorway to eye the box lying oh so innocently in my living room. The manual said he'd wake up rather violently…..maybe I should be armed?

I dropped the remote on the bed and darted across the living room. I jumped over the box on the floor, reached behind the lamp on the table in the corner, and pulled out my own hockey stick. It was a goalie stick, so it was bigger, and definitely heavier than the one Matthew came equipt with. It should do the trick, for now.

I ran back across the room and snatched up the remote, holding my stick defensively in my other hand. Nunavute whined and curled up on the floor. I sighed, fingering the volume control. "Well, Nunavut….here goes nothing." I hit the button.

"…_.-ANCOUVER CANUCKS SCORE! IT'S 4-3 WITH 2:10 LEFT IN THE SECOND!_"

* * *

Perhaps that was not the best way to wake Mattie...


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4! The first real character interaction in this story. XD Well...interaction with a Hetalia character, anyway.

* * *

The box exploded with enough force to rattle the chandelier in the attached dining room, though granted, that could have just been from the shrapnel, and that thing wasn't too well screwed in, anyway.

I was shocked it didn't come crashing down on top of my table. That was a good shock, though, since three of my five final projects lived there, and had that thing been knocked loose and crushed them, I would've beaten Canada right back into his box.

And felt horribly guilty afterwards, but still.

Something scrambled out of the box - I couldn't see, I was cowering on the other side of the door - and scrambled toward my room. It was only five steps, since there was no hallway to speak of - aside from the one to the front door - in the apartment, and I panicked.

I spun around the door and swung my hockey stick like a gravity hammer.

I've played Halo all of once. It was a 4 v 4 match, and the one with the most kills at the end of 50 rounds won. I got one kill. I GOT killed 49 times. The weapon I got my only kill with? The gravity hammer. God, I love swinging things….

Fortunately, unlike in Halo, the target did not go flying backwards upon impact. Which was good, because again, my project table was in the line of fire. I really need to put those in a safer place, now, I guess….maybe the attic? I've never actually been up there. Was it big enough? Was it dusty? I'm allergic to dust!

"Maple!"

Oh, right. I'd just smacked my favorite country in the face with a beaten up and splintery hockey stick.

Bad fangirl, bad.

"OH my god, are you okay?" I dropped my stick on the floor and-OW! Oh, holy swedish fish, the pain! Dropping a composite stick on a toe still recovering from an ingrown nail is a BAD idea.

Just saying'.

Getting back on topic, I started hopping in pain. Canada - or Matthew. Should I call him Matthew? I guess we'll work this out later - started worrying about ME, while I'M still worrying about HIM. Then Nunavut started howling and barking, the announcer started screaming as the Flyers scored a goal, tying the game we'd both forgotten about, and then a neighbor started banging on my door.

They either told me to shut up and turn down the TV, or something about broccoli…

Textbook Spanish doesn't match up well with Orlando-Latino Spanish. Six years, and I still failed at the language. Weird huh? I speak more Klingon than I do Spanish. Qappla. Luc. petaQ.

…..sorry to any Klingon-speakers for that last one.

Oh yeah, back to the screaming.

Ten minutes later, the microwave beeped, letting me know the popcorn was done. I limped the few steps to the kitchen and popped open the door, pulling out the steaming bag and tearing it open. My glasses were immediately fogged up, but I was right in front of the counter, anyway, so I just poured the popcorn into the bowl and waited until my glasses de-fogged.

Back in my room, Nunavut was lying on the bed, chewing a rawhide bone. I HAD been saving that for his birthday, but it got him to quiet down, at least. Canada was sitting on the edge of my bed, holding an icepack to his head. I didn't think I'd hit him that hard, but then the skin had turned purple…

Did they ship me a human or a robot? Or was he an android? The only one I knew to compare him to was Data, from Star Trek: TNG - haha, yes. I'm a Trekkie! - but Canada - Matthew? - was already much more human than Data. And he used contractions. And a Canadian accent.

Good Lord, the accent….

"So…." I sat down on the bed beside him. My feet dangled over the edge, making my feel really short compared to him. The manual said he was about 5'9", so he was a good eight inches taller than me, anyway. "Sorry about your face…..about hitting it, I mean." I really hope he didn't take that the wrong way. That would be a horrible start…

"It's alright, eh." He smiled. Oh God, he's smiling! And he said 'eh'! Yay! I got the cute one first! "I probably just scared you….I get a little excited about hockey, eh."

"I know the feeling." I smiled. "Um….popcorn?" I offered him the bowl. Again, he smiled that so-cute-it-should-be-illegal-smile.

"Sure, eh. Thanks." For a while after that, the only sounds were Nunavut's satisfied chewing and the commercials that played in-between periods. Neither of us were really paying attention to them, anyway. We just wanted the game to restart.

It would give both of us something to relate to without having to resort to that oh-so-awkward conversation about the weather and whatever else we could think of that people didn't really care about.

Seriously, who cared that much about the weather? I certainly didn't. I mean sure, it paid to know if it was going to rain when I'm about to head off to class (since almost every time it did, I forgot my freaking umbrella) but the weather wasn't THAT interesting. What to talk about…what to talk about…..oh, wait. There was that promise I'd made Nunavut this morning. He was happy with his rawhide bone, but still….

"…..wanna go to the park after the game?" I asked. Canada paused for a moment, chewing his mouthful of popcorn.

"Sure, eh."

* * *

I tried to give it a little more 'voice', but I think all I did was spiral off-topic. -_- Sorry...


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5!

* * *

Nunavut LOVES the park. And running. And swimming. And chasing the Ibis. Not so much getting chased by the vultures, though. They lived in the park, too.

It was a relatively small park, about five miles from my house. I try to save gas when I can, so me, Matthew and Nunavut walked. It was kind of long, but all on one side of the road, and required no crossing. This was good, as Semoran Blvd is a very dangerous road even when you're IN a car. To pedestrians, it's even worse. God-of-your-choice help you if you're a canine in that mess. Orlando drivers are freaking NASTY.

Oh yeah, I live in Florida. America. Ironic that I received a Canadian, then, eh? Heheh…"eh"…accent joke.

The walk itself was uneventful, with Nunavut sniffing the random pedestrians we passed. Most of them ignored him, one crossed the street, and a few waved. The wind was gusting a little, tossing dried leaves and trash along the street. Maybe I've been living in Florida for too long, but I thought it was cold. I need to go back to Pennsylvania.

Being winter - January, really - it was a pretty cool day for the Orlando area, with a predicted high temperature of 60, and an wind chill to make it a balmy 56. The high I'd gotten used to was 95, and the low, 70. Degrees in Farenheight, not Celceus. I never could remember that conversion formula.

Nunavut was just fine with the weather (with all his fur), and Canada had his fluffy military jacket (of which I was jealous). Being a college student on a budget and no real idea of how to handle it, I only had my cosplay jacket.

My America cosplay jacket.

Oh, hi, Irony. Welcome back.

Thankfully, Canada didn't comment on my choice of outer wear….at least, for the first twenty minutes. I saw him sneaking glances at me every so often, obviously wanting to ask, but maybe he didn't know how to ask without being impolite. Aww, sweet Canadian. Stereotypical, but sweet.

"It's cosplay." I spoke up. Canada blinked.

"Eh?" He asked. My inner fangirl squealed. He said 'eh'! I twisted Nunavut's leash around my hand and gave it a tug, pulling him away from some poor squirrel he'd just given heart attack. Silly Newfie. Dogs don't eat acorns.

"The jacket," I clarified. "It's for cosplay. I don't own any other jackets, and my only sweatshirt got left behind the last time I went home for a visit." I explained. Canada tilted his head. I decided to be a jackass for a moment. "Me, college student. Live on budget." I got to watch those (sexy) violet eyes light up, in some interesting mix of realization and annoyance.

"It doesn't look all that warm, eh." He noticed. I shrugged.

"It's not, really….just cheap fabric. But the collar is nice and fluffy!" Canada eyed my jacket again.

"….does it even close?" I paused at this and glanced down. A cup? Flat. B cup? Slightly better. C cup? Nice to stare at. D cup? Whistle. DD cup? _Hellooooooo Nurse_!

"Um…well, no. But it's not supposed to." I covered quickly. "It's meant to hang open over the rest of the cosplay." Canada raised an eyebrow at me.

"Then why wear it, eh?" There he went again, with his sexy 'eh's! God, his accent is killing me. If he keeps talking with this amount of sexy, I'll never focus on another project again! And that would just waste all $75000 of my tuition…

"Because it keeps my arms warm." I turned away and walked dramatically after Nunavut, ending the conversation. Canada caught up to my short stride easily, rolling his eyes.

"At least the jacket matches, eh."

The general attitude cheered up when we reached the park, and spent the few hours I could spare chasing Nunavut and his frisbee (which he had oh-so-proudly carried all the way to the park). A few times, the wind picked up and carried the supposedly unchewable flying disc halfway across the park. By the time we decided to start walking back home, I swear, I'd worked off that chocolate muffin I'd eaten for lunch.

The cheery air didn't last, however, because when we reached my apartment complex, there was a very familiar truck sitting in the loop behind my car. Nunavut started barking and bounded up the steps, wagging his tail and begging the grinning delivery man for a belly rub. It took all my willpower not to facepalm as I followed my dog up the steps, with Canada trailing behind me.

"Two in one day?" I whined. "Really?" Dan just grinned at me. If he weren't so cute, I'd have smacked him one good.

"I told you, I live close by." He held out the clipboard again. Scowling and doing my best to melt his (deviously cute) brain with my nonexistent laser vision, I signed my name. "Want some help getting it inside?" He asked cheerfully. I sulkily handed back the clipboard.

"No. I've got Canada to help." Dan stared for a moment.

"…who?" Then his eyes lit up. "Oh! Right! This morning's delivery! Sorry." He gave Nunavut one last ear scratch and tipped his hat. "See you later!" I watched him climb into the Flying Mint Bunny Express truck and drive away before looking up at Canada.

"…..sooo…help me get this inside?" Canada sighed, looking depressed.

"Sure…." Aww, no 'eh' that time. After a moment of thought, I reached up and patted his shoulder.

"I'll get the door…..and don't worry. He just couldn't see your awesome." Canada gave a little smile.

"You sound just like Gilbert, eh." Squee! He said 'eh'!

Once the box was inside and the smaller top box taken down, I raided my art table for that 98 cent sliding knife. Finding it, I slid out the point and cut the tape loose, then shut it and tossed it back on the table. I'd probably forget I did that later, but my projects were all finished, so it's not like I'd be needing it any time soon. Not really paying attention to what else was in the small box, I dug my hand inside in search of the manual. Canada busied himself with feeding Nunavut, since the Newfie was now lying pathetically beside his bowl, whining and crying up a storm.

"Only one cup, okay?" I told the Canadian as he found the bag of kibble in the pantry. "He snarfs enough table scraps to make up the rest-" I stopped. Having felt my fingers encounter something soft, I had pulled it out, and was now holding one of the biggest roses I had ever seen in my life. Make what jokes you will. "...I think I know who we got." I looked inside the box this time and pulled out the manual from beneath a box that I'd rather not touch.

"Congratulations, you have just received your very own FRANCIS BONNEFOY Unit, a.k.a.: FRANCE..."

* * *

Because I not-so-secretly adore France.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six!

* * *

"You open it."

"No, you open it."

"No, YOU open it."

"You ordered it, eh"

"Damnit." Nunavut watched the argument from his perch on the couch, where he had happily resumed chewing of his rawhide bone. He was perfectly calm, despite the tension that (I swore) was poisoning the air. Then again, he had nothing to lose from the contents of the second box (what was I supposed to do with TWO of these things?) that now filled my living room.

I slowly flipped through the manuel to find the section on waking, trying to procrastinate as much as possible. The first option didn't seem too bad. I DID need to learn to cook something besides pasta. Then again, I had the relative attention span of a squirrel…Option two seemed interesting, since Matthew WAS right here…and Option three was out of the question, so Two became my Plan B.

Option Four: Open the box, introduce yourself, and pray you don't get raped.

…..yeah, no.

I closed the manual with a small sigh. "….Matthew, please get the Bisquick out of the pantry. We've got pancakes to make." The Canadian nodded, having read the manuel over my shoulder. Which wasn't hard. Stupid 4-5 inch difference.

"Option three. Good choice." He moved the few steps to my kitchen. I suddenly realized just how small my apartment was. It was a two bedroom, but there were only three beds…two singles and a double. Then there was the couch, and an air mattress….so assuming the double and air mattress each had two people, and we used the couch was a bed, I had….sleeping room for seven people, including myself.

Uh oh. How many units was I going to get?

Canada let me panic about this fact for a good ten minutes, taking his time with the pancakes before pulling the maple syrup out of the refrigerator. He raised an eyebrow, quietly impressed.

"You have the real stuff, eh?" He smiled quietly. I took this opportunity to switch my train of thought.

"Yep. My parents own a summer house on Lake Huron. The closest town is twenty miles from the St. Lawrence Locks. Every summer, we would take a trip across the boarder." I dropped the manuel on the couch beside Nunavut, who was licking up the last remnants of his rawhide bone, and joined Matthew in the kitchen. "I can't go for a while, obviously, but Mom always sends a bottle in the care packages." I grinned. "The bubble wrap is amusing, too," Canada smirked, then pushed a plate into my hands.

"Here you go, eh." I made a face at his laughing at my soon-to-be misfortune.

"Don't gimme that look. It's you he's gonna be after." Hah. Take that, sly smirk. Turning back to the matter at hand, I edged toward the box carefully and set the plate down on the empty box still sitting on the floor from Matthew's arrival a few hours prior. I shuffled back a few steps and waited. I didn't actually have a fan, and didn't want to stand too close, but hopefully, the AC system would-

"Mon petit Mathieu~!" The box rattled. "Where are you~!" I shuffled back behind Canada, who started a little at the familiar nickname.

"I-I'm right here, papa…." Awww! He called him papa! My inner fangirl did a cartwheel. Maybe this was good after all. The top of the box finally popped off, and France quickly sat up, tossing the lid aside as he bounced out of the box and took the two steps needed to encase Canada in an alarmingly tight (and perhaps too affectionate - but I'm not policing) hug.

"There you are! Ah, mon petit, it iz so good to see you again!" France gushed happily. Canada blushed, halfheartedly trying to wriggle away.

"Papa.." He whined softly. I giggled. This caused France's attention to shift to me.

"Ah! And who is zis lovely lady?" I blinked, suddenly finding my hand in his, and feeling lips against my knuckles. Well. This was new.

"P-papa, this is Miss Rhoads. She's our host, eh…" Canada supplied. France smiled and Dear God (or Mon Dieu, in this case) was it sexy.

"A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Miss Rhoads." He smiled, rolling the 'R' just so. I giggled again. His personality was just a tad too romantic for my tastes, but I was 5'1" and 208lbs. If he wanted to make me feel special then damnit I was gonna enjoy it!

"Papa, why don't you unpack, eh? There's a bed all ready for you." So long, special moment. France turned back to Canada, and I pouted. But only a little bit.

"Ah, of course, mon petit." He sidled up beside the Canadian, smiling and suddenly holding one of the roses from his smaller box. When the hell had he grabbed that? "This is such a small living space….I don't' suppose we…share a room?" Canada's face turned bright red at the tone.

Too cute. WAY too cute. Like, 'where-the-hell-is-my-camera-when-I-need-it' cute. Seriously, where was it? This was GOLD! As I looked around, however, I spotted something else that made my yaoi-induced good mood plummet.

"NUNAVUT! YOU ATE MY MANUEL!"

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Damnit, we needed that thing...


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry the upload took so long - I've been struggling with current classes (all technically-minded, which I am not), and trying to work on updates for all my stories. Ch. 12 of "Territorial" is struggling with upload problems...I keep losing the format when I try to bring it here. "Cosplay Hetalia" is progressing slowly, but I should update in the next month or so. Sorry for the wait!_

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Shit. Verdammt. Merde. Maldita sea. чертвозьми Hu'tegh!

What was I supposed to do now? The idea of dealing with France had been perfectly fine when I'd had his manuel as a back-up plan. Now, all 498 pages (approximate guess) were laying in shreds on the carpeted floor, or making their way through my Newfoundland's digestive tract. IT CAN'T HELP ME FROM THERE!

Said Newfoundland whined and pinned his ears back, quite aware of his wrongdoing. Goddamn this bleeding heart, but I can't stay mad at him when he does that. I sighed and stared down at the papery mess. Now I had to clean that up….wonder if I could get a new one or something? Ignoring Canada and France (who were now both staring at me strangely - what? Did I say all that cursing out loud? Whoops) I moved across the living room and pulled down Canada's manuel from the mantle. Pack-ratish me hadn't thrown it out, even though Canada was sane enough that I wouldn't have ever used it. There, in the fine print of the front page! I just had to call customer service, and they'd send me a replacement manuel!

"Canada, please put Nunavut out on the balcony." I requested as I walked past them again to fetch my cell phone. I don't have a landline in the apartment, since there was never a need for one. I carried the cell everywhere. Canada nodded and extracted himself from France's (wandering) hug, tugging the shamefaced Newfoundland across the living room to the small, rectangular concrete balcony that came standard. I hadn't used it since moving in, so Nunavut would have no excuse not to think about what he'd done.

"France, you can put your stuff in the guest room…" I pointed vaguely down the hall, dialing with one hand. "And stay out of the closet across the hall." I could almost feel the Frenchman smirking behind my back, a rose appearing between those slim fingers.

"But why, ma cheri…?" He asked, trying to sound seductive. He did, but that's not the point. I had a lot of personal stuff in that closet that I hadn't unpacked yet - even though I've been here almost ten months - and I didn't want him going through them. But that answer wasn't nearly as much fun.

"Because I murdered my last roommate for annoying me too much and hid his body in there. It's starting to fall apart. Don't open the door, and you shouldn't smell him…much." Oh, if ONLY I'd been able to turn around to see the look on his face before he bolted down the hall. As it was, he slammed the door so fast, it rattled my chandelier. I really should make sure that thing is screwed in….

Four minutes of dialing and chasing automated message directions, I finally got connected to a live (living, that is) customer service person. An all-too cheery, live, customer service person.

"_Hello, and thank you for calling the Flying Mint Bunny Express hotli_-" I interrupted before I could get the whole salesperson spiel.

"My dog ate my manuel." There was a moment of silence.

"_…..which model, ma'am_?" She asked. Good. No beating around the bush.

"France." I replied. "No Medieval, no Revolution, just France."

"_I see_." I heard the sound of keyboard keys clicking. "_May I have your name, please_?" The woman asked.

"Rhoads….I've had two deliveries, already." I added on. No harm in covering all the bases.

"_…aha, here you are. Your next delivery is already in stock. I can have Dan drop it off a little early. We can include the replacement manuel, as well_." She offered. I sighed. I'd have to make up the air mattress…which my lazy self did NOT feel like doing. But I couldn't have a housemate (unintentional or not) sleeping on the floor.

"Sounds great! Thank you so much…" I replied. I could almost hear the woman smiling over the phone.

"_Oh, no trouble, dearie. This kind of thing happens all the time_." She told me. "_Dan should drop of your new guest and replacement manuel by tomorrow evening. If not then, expect him the following morning_." I smiled and leaned back in my chair.

"Thanks again." I hung up and dropped my phone on the table. Well, that was one problem taken care of. I still had to deal with Nunavut…but a few minutes more on the balcony should be enough. He didn't do well in Florida weather…even though it's been kind of chilly, lately. All that was left to do was get France settled…

...then again, Canada could handle that...

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_Anyone else having trouble with submission? Doc Manager totally ate my format..._


	8. Chapter 8

_Quite the delay, there, sorry about that. Life reared its ugly head, and schoolwork takes priority, you realize. Here's chapter eight, for your enjoyment._

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France's replacement manuel came within two days, along with Switzerland, whom nearly got me reported to my landlord when he burst out of his crate, having already discovered that his bullets were blanks. The resulting fight chipped my hockey stick (which was really the only 'weapon' I had) and cracked the glass of my shadow box.

It was a heavy, wooden-frame thing that weighed close to 100lbs, and contained my jersey from my high school hockey days, a patch given to our team for winning second place in the league tournament, a 'zero club' patch (awarded to goalies for a game with no goals against), my letter, two pins, and a few team pictures. The weight was mostly frame, but finding another piece of glass large enough to fit it was an expensive venture.

After that, things settled down. Canada took a job with a nearby hockey rink, and quickly became one of the favored coaches there. France found a job with a catering company inside the city. It was a bit of a drive from the apartment, but soon enough he was able to trade cabbie pick-ups for transportation of his own. Switzerland became my unofficial financial advisor, and cracked down on my frivolous spending (and I had quite the nasty habit of it).

I finally had to tell my parents that I had three new roomies, but they were surprisingly alright with it. Dad was just happy that they were chipping in with the rent (which really did alleviate some financial stresses), though Mom worried a bit at first, since the new roomies were all guys. She came down to visit for a few days, and though she had to share my bed while she stayed (a little awkward, but she's still my mother), she ended up approving, and left happy.

I finished my accelerated college course (after finally settling on compositing for my division) within six months of Switzerland's arrival, and graduated my Bachelor's degree. Unit delivery had stopped after Switzerland, and though we weren't sure why, I was alright with it (as I was out of open beds, and all). Once I'd graduated, we boxed up the apartment, loaded up the cars and a rented truck, and trekked 900 miles back to my native Pennsylvania.

Not nearly as many job opportunities there as in, say, California, but the cost of living was much lower than either Cali or Orlando, it was much closer to home, and my father had a slew of clients who were happy to have a compositor put together free ads and commercials for them. Free work brings no money, but it does bring publicity, and it builds my resume. Once I had that all padded, I could start charging.

With my sister off to college nearby, and me being all grown up now, my parents moved out of our family home and downgraded to a smaller home in a close by development, alongside a few of their friends. They agreed to keep the family home, and rent it out to me and my 'companions' (whom I argued needed a place to stay, and all had job transfers in the area). The four bedroom, two bath house (with nearly eighteen places to sleep, if you counted the attic, couches, basement and air mattress) was a much better accommodation than the cluttered two bed, two bath we'd shared in Florida.

Apparently, Flying Mint Bunny Co. thought so too, because within a week of us settling in back home, their truck pulled into the drive.

I was home alone with Nunavut when they arrived. Canada and France were both at work, and Switzerland was off interviewing for a position of his own with an accounting firm in nearby West Chester. Nunavut started barking as soon as the truck pulled in, and I had to wrestle him away from the door before I answered it. The delivery man came out from behind the box with a bright smile, and while he wasn't Dan, he seemed cheery enough.

"Good morning, Ms. Rhoads!" The man smiled. "I've got a delivery for you!" I found myself raising an eyebrow.

"That took a while." I commented, only realizing how rude that sounded after it had read my lips. The delivery man smiled sheepishly.

"Well, it's actually company policy to only send as many units as the receiver has spare beds. We calculated that, since you already had a pet, you only had about two to three spare beds, and you'd mentioned in conversation with Dan, when he dropped off your third unit, that you were planning to move to a bigger place. So, we put a hold on your deliveries until that occurred." He explained, still smiling. I could only stare. I remembered that conversation, and that policy was…..brilliant, but kind of big-brotherish…

"So….how many units am I getting, total?" I ventured as the delivery man held out the clipboard for me to sign.

"Only about seven, total." He replied. "We don't usually send more than that to any one person, unless they specifically request it. Seven units is usually about as much as people can handle." I propped open the doors (storm door and inner) and shooed Nunavut back into the kitchen as the delivery man wrestled the crate up over the threshold, and wheeled it into the living room. He tipped his hat to me as he walked out. "Good luck." He smiled. I watched the truck maneuver around the driveway's turnaround, and looked back to the crate as the man went on his way.

"Alright…." I stood on my toes to reach the smaller box taped to the top of the crate. "Let's see who you are…"

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_Not quite sure who should be next. Any suggestions?_


End file.
